


things I want to say to you (but I'll just let you live)

by holtzmanns, writworm42



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Smut, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Smut, a holtz and writ DOUBLE FEATURE, and mischief, broken up sex, would you expect anything less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 08:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/pseuds/writworm42
Summary: Maybe scrolling through her phone one last time before the opening number is a stupid choice.But Vanessa’s feet are already pinching in her heels, damn it, her corset restricting her breaths, and sometimes a quick scroll through her Instagram stories can be enough to distract her until the sweet adrenaline of performing begins to hit like a drug.Except that this time, the blood rushing through her veins when she taps on the first available story isn’t because of the impending opening number.





	things I want to say to you (but I'll just let you live)

**Author's Note:**

> In which Holtz and Writ have no self control, none whatsoever. Sorry but also, not sorry? Shoutout for BarbieHytes for the goading to write this. Title from 'Cinnamon Girl' by Lana Del Rey. Thank you Multi for betaing <3

Maybe scrolling through her phone one last time before the opening number is a stupid choice.

But Vanessa’s feet are already pinching in her heels, damn it, her corset restricting her breaths, and sometimes a quick scroll through her Instagram stories can be enough to distract her until the sweet adrenaline of performing begins to hit like a drug.

Except that this time, the blood rushing through her veins when she taps on the first available story isn’t because of the impending opening number.

Brooke Lynn, all scruff with stubble growing in (the same stubble that would scratch at her skin when they were together, whenever Brooke nuzzled her face against her), in a turtleneck and a damn fine leather jacket with that dumb hat that she’s begun to wear recently. Not that Vanessa would know, because she most definitely does not check Brooke’s Instagram all that often. Nope. 

Vanessa nearly drops her phone because Brooke still looks damn good, still makes her heart race as if no time has passed at all, and why wouldn’t it? When they fall back into familiar patterns whenever they’re in close proximity to each other?

The opening number feels like a haze, Vanessa having to work her brain twice as hard to hit all of her cues. She can’t help the way that her eyes keep flitting amongst the crowd, the sea of faces that are blurring together because maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to spot Brooke. 

Vanessa feels even more antsy than usual as she waits for her solo number, making a ruckus fooling around with Kim while she films her Instagram stories for the night because she needs something, anything to distract her. Because Brooke’s here, Brooke’s right here. Not in a faraway city, only showing up on Vanessa’s screen once in a while but actually here, in the venue, on the other side of the heavy stage curtains. 

Here. In the flesh. At Werq the World.

She’d be stupid to think that Brooke’s here only for her, because she’s friends with most of the girls on the cast, and really, would she come to the show just for an ex?

Disregarding the fact, of course, that Brooke had done just that when their season had started airing. Came to one of Vanessa’s gigs.

Not that it matters.

But it’s making Vanessa twitchy. Feels real weird. She doesn’t want to give in to the tiny sliver of hope that’s running through her heart, taunting her, bugging her, telling her that maybe, just maybe, something will happen. Again. Like it sometimes does. 

But she needs to temper her expectations down, bring them to a normal level before she ends up five shots in and posting more stupid shit on her Instagram stories that sober her won’t able to take down fast enough.

She sends up a quick prayer to both the Lord and Rihanna when the stage lights for her number start to flash, letting the bass beats of the music activate her muscle memory. After so many rehearsals and shows Vanessa feels like she can do the routine in her sleep, and it’s for the best, really, ‘cause she’s still thinking of that picture and that damn scruff and how much Brooke looks like she’s glowing. Not that she ever isn’t.

It isn’t until the final bow of the show that Vanessa spots her. Freezes. ‘Cause Brooke’s there, right _ there_, and how didn’t Vanessa see her before when she’s sitting smack dab in a row in the floor seats beside Jason and Steve, the latter two who look like proud parents while they clap and whistle? Brooke looks right at her and Vanessa can feel the breath hitch in her throat the way it always does because something about Brooke’s gaze is always so electrifying, managing to reach the inner workings of her soul without even trying to, exposing whatever she wants to hide. 

Brooke’s sitting a little too far back to be able to tell, but Vanessa swears that she sees her wink. Maybe Vanessa has terrible vision or perhaps Brooke has some sort of wack facial twitch, but the sight nonetheless makes her heart bubble up in her chest.

The way Brooke has Vanessa wrapped around her finger without even doing anything should be considered absolutely criminal. 

Vanessa usually likes to stay in drag for a little while even after her gigs finish, never one of those girls to immediately tug everything off. Though today she’s feeling restricted, antsy, wanting to free her tuck and pull off her paddings and let her scalp breathe from the wig cap. She can’t find her makeup remover in the mess of her bags, (she thought that she’d packed them in her foundation makeup bag at the last tour stop, damn it), and is about to bother Yvie for an extra bottle, heading down the backstage hallway when-

“Shit! Sorry, didn’t mean to bump-”

Vanessa’s words are caught in her throat because the hands that grab her upper arms to steady her have too familiar of a grip. The light scent of cologne, the small laugh, the gentle squeeze from the hand of her bicep make her brain put together the pieces before she’s even able to formulate a sentence. 

“Hey.” 

Brooke’s voice is soft. Warmer than Vanessa had expected it to be. But she’s here, in the flesh. Out of drag and looking oh so cozy in her little leather jacket and Vanessa wants to do nothing more than to wrap her arms around Brooke’s waist and snuggle into it. 

“Hey.” The word leaves her on a laugh that is slightly on edge, because her heart is pumping a lot faster than she wants it to. 

Vanessa hadn’t been expecting to see Brooke so soon, hanging around backstage like she’s part of the cast herself. But at the same time, she can’t find it in herself to complain.

“Hey.” Brooke nods, a smile ghosting at the corners of her mouth. So this had been her plan all along - show up and surprise her, watch her get caught off guard, probably hand her a gift or two-

As if on cue, Brooke hands her a bouquet of flowers. “You look pretty.”

Vanessa snorts. “Pretty, huh?”

“The prettiest.”

That sneaky little fucker.

“You know you predictable, right?” Vanessa rolls her eyes with a smile on her lips as she accepts the bouquet, bringing it to her nose and breathing in the intoxicating scent of roses and baby’s breath. Brooke only laughs.

“Didn’t stop you from looking like you saw a ghost when you came back here.” 

“Shut up and come with me to my dressin’ room already if you wanna talk, I gotta take this shit off.”

There’s no innuendo in the statement; after God knows how many hours of sweat and foundation and tucking tape, if Vanessa doesn’t get out of drag she might as well retire now, because every inch of her will have been ruined by this tour. And anyway, Brooke’s seen her naked more times than she can count, knows Vanessa’s de-dragging routine by heart. There’s nothing sexual about it, no scandal at all.

That doesn’t mean that Vanessa’s able to calm her heartbeat to a normal pace as she leads Brooke deeper backstage. Or that she won’t quiet her footsteps to crawl past the dressing rooms of the other queens like a teenager sneaking out past curfew.

Unfortunately, Twinkle Toes behind her seems to have other plans, her heavy footsteps like thunder on the hallway’s concrete floors.

“You an asshole, you know that?” Vanessa hisses as she pulls Brooke into her dressing room just in time to avoid Asia’s shit-eating grin whipping out from behind her door. 

“You love me.” Brooke responds by instinct, but the wince on her face is palpable as she realizes what she’s said. Somehow, the sight is even worse for Vanessa than if she’d just let the taunt go.

_ You love me. You love me. _

Vanessa loves her. And she knows that Brooke loves her too. But they can’t say it, not like they mean it, because they’re not together, they’re not a couple, they’re not doing that anymore-

“Your makeup is starting to melt off.” Brooke says softly, looking down at her feet. It’s a lie, Vanessa knows it’s a lie, she can see right in the mirror in front of her that her mug is perfectly fine. But she plays along anyway, just to break the silence.

Besides, she really does need to take it off, anyway.

“So, what brings you here on this fine last night of the tour?” Vanessa pops her tongue as she grabs her makeup wipes from the counter, pulling one out a little harder than she needs to and cursing under her breath when a chain of three more wipes follow, still attached to each other.

“Didn’t have anything booked, thought I’d surprise you.” Brooke shrugs, reaching forward and breaking off the chain for Vanessa, though still not looking at her as she stuffs the other three back into the box. 

Now’s the part where it gets awkward. Vanessa can ignore Brooke, focus on what she needs to be doing, or she can strike up a conversation, ask for validation about her performance, ask how Brooke is doing. 

She chooses the latter.

“Saw your whole Dumbass Square thing happenin’, looks good.”

“_Dundas_.” Brooke laughs. “Dundas Square.” 

“Whatever.” Vanessa rolls her eyes as she wipes her lips clean, her boy-mouth fading into the rest of her still-made-up face. “Seriously, it’s a nice ad. Did you design it?”

Brooke shakes her head and hands Vanessa another wipe. “Nah. My web-designer did, and I got final approval. It’s thanks to him I even have that campaign, to be honest.”

“Bitch, don’t be modest.” Vanessa snorts, the highlight on her cheeks disappearing as she wipes it away, too. “You the RuPaul of Canada, you been knew that for a long time. If you ain’t got Squarespace you got a million other things tryna light Toronto up with your face.”

Brooke blushes but Vanessa catches the smile on her face in the mirror nonetheless, and can’t help but smile, too.

Brooke is so cute when she’s trying to be modest. Always has been.

“Alright, so you wanna get outta here when I’m back in boy clothes, grab drinks with the rest of us?” Vanessa blinks the sting away after she pulls off her lashes, turning to Brooke to wait for an answer.

Instead, all she gets is a weird look.

“What? Did I forget-oh, fuck.” Vanessa notices a smudge of eyeliner on the underside of her eye, probably something that she forgot to remove and then fucked up when she was taking off her lashes. She grabs another wipe and tries to get at it, but it’s too difficult to reach, and she only winds up poking herself in the eye. She’s about to give up, cuss the wipe out and just resign herself to going out looking like she’s lost a bar fight with a Mac counter girl, when she feels a hand on her shoulder and breath in her ear.

“Get up on the counter, I can take it off for you.” Brooke offers, her voice quiet but clear. There’s no innuendo in the offer; Vanessa has to get that spot off anyway, and she’ll be damned if Brooke ever lets her go out looking like a fool (really, with Brooke’s outfits, that’s _ her _ job anyway). No sir, no innuendo at all.

But then Brooke’s face is close, her stubble visible and sharp smell of aftershave still present, her lips pursed in effort as she tries to help Vanessa out. And her eyes, God, Vanessa had forgotten just how intense her eyes are up close, especially when she’s focused, and yet they still manage to look so soft, so kind-

“What?” Brooke locks eyes with Vanessa, her brow creasing in concern despite the smile curling up in the corners of her mouth, betraying the fact that she knows exactly what’s going on, exactly what’s going to happen.

Vanessa’s never really been good at holding herself back.

“You got somethin’ on your mouth.”

Brooke’s lips taste like chapstick, the sugary flavour trying but failing to cover the smoky tang of tobacco underneath it.

“You started smokin’ again.” Vanessa whispers into Brooke’s mouth. Brooke only gasps in response as Vanessa takes the moment to trail the tips of her fingers down Brooke’s waist and over her hips, wrapping her fingers in the belt-loops of her jeans and yanking her closer.

“But that’s okay, baby,” Vanessa continues, kissing and sucking along Brooke’s neck as she grinds her hips into the older queen’s body, smiling at the hardness she meets there, “You get so stressed, don’t you?”

“_Uh-huh. _” Brooke moans out as Vanessa licks along her collarbone. Vanessa brings her hands down again to cup Brooke’s ass, hears the way it makes Brooke gasp. “So stressed, Papi, fuck.” 

Brooke’s hands are roaming Vanessa’s body so hungrily that she can hardly tell where they even are anymore, making goosebumps rise on her flesh as Brooke’s nails scrape in every direction on her skin. It’s almost enough to make her lose focus completely, but she pulls herself back, staying present enough to squeeze Brooke’s ass tightly just as the taller queen reaches her hips. 

“You wanna be my stress relief tonight, baby boy?” Brooke’s whisper is almost sinful in Vanessa’s ear, her thumbs stroking along the curve of Vanessa’s hipbones in a way that makes her squirm, her tuck becoming increasingly uncomfortable with every passing moment. 

“Yes, daddy, please.” Vanessa grunts and then Brooke’s letting go, falling to her knees, looking up at Vanessa with those fucking eyes of hers.

“Alright, baby, let daddy undo your tuck for you, then we’ll get you nice and warmed up, okay?” Vanessa is too far gone to do anything but grunt in agreement to Brooke’s offer, her mind entirely focused on what’s to come as Brooke makes quick work of the panties and tape keeping her cock hidden. Within moments, Brooke is cupping Vanessa’s bare dick, fingers working in small, deft movements to stroke and stimulate her balls. With her other hand, she grabs Vanessa’s cock and begins to stroke the shaft, her pace slow and grip firm as Vanessa begins to harden in her hand. 

“My, my, you’ve been pent up for a while, haven’t you?” Brooke teases as a bead of precum begins to leak over the head of Vanessa’s dick. “Poor baby.”

“Just suck me off already.” Vanessa growls. Back when they were together, the demand would have earned her a sharp spanking and a few more minutes of stroking just to torment her, to get her right on the edge before Brooke would finally give in. But they’re not together, and Brooke isn’t in charge, and they’ve only got a few minutes before Asia will no doubt knock at their door and tell them to hurry up in there, or the bus will leave without them. 

Well. Without Vanessa.

‘Them’ has already been left behind.

She pushes the thought out of her mind as Brooke wraps the tip of Vanessa’s cock in her mouth, swirling her tongue around and letting her eyes close like her dick is the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. 

It’s impressive. Even after almost a year, Brooke still makes Vanessa come undone with such an ease that it seems like second nature to her. She pulls out every trick, every technique Vanessa’s ever seen her perform, all the ones she likes best, until Vanessa’s about to come, she’s about to come, and then Brooke is off of her cock and spinning her around, teasing her open and whispering her to wait a second, hold it, _ don’t you dare come, don’t you dare come, not without daddy’s permission, do you understand? _

Even after all this time, Brooke still slides in easily, and it doesn’t take long for her to need to pull out again. 

“Come for me, baby boy.”

Vanessa obeys without any thought, without any real will, because she can’t help it, not with Brooke. 

They grab paper towels from the dressing room’s attached bathroom, cleaning up the mess in a flurry of giggles and peppered kisses, because Vanessa can’t keep herself away from Brooke anymore (could she ever?), not even if she tries. It’s like they’re two schoolboys hurrying to get rid of the evidence that betrays some mischief that they’ve pulled, like this is something they can share a gaze over without having to use any words. 

Vanessa’s pulling a tank top back on when there’s a bang on the dressing room door, one that makes Brooke’s eyes light up with mirth as Asia yells on the other side of the door. “Vanjie, if you don’t hurry up, imma catch the plane back to LA all by my damn self. Leaving you and your horny ass behind.” 

Brooke’s hand is covering her mouth to hold in her laughter but a snort escapes nonetheless, one that makes Vanessa crack up in response and soon they’re giggling, ignoring the incessant pounding on the door. 

“You too, Brooke, we know you’re in there!” 

“You must be thinking of someone else.” Brooke’s voice is comically high pitched, nearly making Vanessa howl with laughter. “No Brooke here.”

“Jesus Christ.” Asia grumbles and Vanessa watches as the handle of door jiggles before the door itself flies open, nearly off of its hinges, Asia’s face looking like she’s the cat that’s just gotten the cream. 

“Please, bitch, we know you wouldn’t leave without us.” Vanessa rolls her eyes but acquiesces, throwing the rest of her drag haphazardly into her bags so that they can follow Asia out. Brooke falls into step beside her, helping her pack up her things like second nature. 

Vanessa ignores how well the two of them work in tandem.

Brooke grabs one of Vanessa’s bags without her even having to ask, hoisting it over her shoulder as if it’s no trouble at all before grabbing her hand in her own. As if they’re a unit again, two heartbeats in sync with one pulse, along the same wavelengths. As if they’ve never left it in the first place.

It’s moments like these that always hurt the most when Vanessa looks back at them, when the clock hits the early hours of the morning and her blood alcohol level is too damn high. When all she can think is _ why why why, _because they work, they really fucking work together and why can’t this be them all the time? Isn’t it what they deserve to have?

But she’ll take them as they come. 

Right now, all Vanessa can think about is how warm their intertwined grasp is, how she can feel the pulse in Brooke’s thumb pounding against her palm. 

The way that Brooke squeezes her hand as they leave the venue makes Vanessa wonder if Brooke can feel her pulse, too.

Vanessa doesn’t follow the rest of the queens for drinks that night, or follow Asia to the airport for their ridiculous early morning flight back to LA. Really, she should have known what was going to happen ever since Brooke came with her to her dressing room. 

No, she wakes up curled up against Brooke’s side, a strong arm around her waist and a gentle kiss pressed to her neck when she begins to stir.

The sporadic beams of sunlight that peek through the dark clouds in the window match the waves of uncertainty and confusion that always run through her veins whenever it comes to Brooke. How she doesn’t know what they are, probably will never know. Because that’s not how they function. 

It doesn’t stop her from nestling closer into Brooke’s arms, into the warmth and safety and security that feels good, even if it’s temporary. Even if it’ll be gone the next time she catches a flight and they’re in different places and Brooke’s probably picking up more trade and not even thinking twice about Vanessa. When Vanessa won’t be able to stop herself from scrolling through her camera roll, unable to keep herself from pausing on pictures of them, the longing in her heart undoubtedly increasing with each and every shot.

She’ll still do this again. Every time. It’s always worth it. Always with Brooke.

**Author's Note:**

> Let us know what you think!


End file.
